


Acapulco

by Crazybutsound



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-26
Updated: 2004-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazybutsound/pseuds/Crazybutsound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy thought Acapulco would be neutral territory, Dom has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acapulco

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RunLikeRain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunLikeRain/gifts).



> for my dear beloved rynalwyn on her birthday. This takes place around the time when Billy was filming Master and Commander.

He feels stupid more than anything. He’s not sure he ever expected anything else, anything more appropriate than this, but he’s pretty certain he should have. He’s worth more than passing shrugs and a rude dismissal, after all. He’s not yesterday’s dirty laundry.

He pushes away from the wall, dirt and grime sticking to his back, creeping down his front and leaving him feeling sticky. A nameless blowjob in an alley, behind that club Orlando gave him the address to, and he’s no closer to feeling young enough to fit in.

He makes his way back into the club, rubs a little up and down pretty bodies, all tight and hot, and nothing like him. He’s aware that he’s cute, almost handsome, pretty enough to make millions of teenies wet their knickers every time Pippin raises huge witless eyes to Merry. But cute won’t quite cut it, here. He can be hot with the ladies, uphold the reputation he’s been given of being a ladies man, a playboy with a heart of gold, but he can’t fit in where tall, dark, and handsome seems to be the favorite dish.

Short and quirky, with a side of charming. Yet, what everybody wants—himself included—is sizzling hot and hard muscled torsos, towering over hardening dicks. A world of hormonal males, run mainly by the head that doesn’t think.

It’s a rare weekend off, which he’s decided to spend sight-seeing rather than surfing with the boys. There’s only so much temptation you can willingly submit yourself to before you crack. 

Billy cracked a long time ago.

He supposes it had to do with wetsuits and neoprene, black and tight, with the sun blinding and salt on Dom’s parched lips. A combination leading to sensory overload, maybe. Whatever it was, Billy wants to forget for a bit. Still, the sun, the sea... he would have missed it, and the girl who booked the hotel for him said Acapulco was as likely a destination as any. He’d have gone to Mexico City, done the whole touristy thing, with the museum, the pyramids, the trip down the canal with the flowers and the couples and stuff... but Acapulco sounded less... more... something. 

Maybe just less obvious.

Which is evidently why he ended up in a gay club. Ha!

When he leaves, the air outside is heavy and thick, dampness sticking to his back and gluing the shirt to his shoulders. He remembers things he saw, things he read, and understands how the heat could drive anybody crazy. 

Or maybe it’s just that people only come to Acapulco when they’re done running.

It could also be that he’s a bitter, old drama queen. Who knows?

The last remnants of any romantic notion he might have entertained about the beach and the moonlight disappear when he trips over and falls face down, sprawled out on the dirty wet sand. There’s the great big gaping mouth of some kind of sewer just up ahead, and Billy can smell the stench already impregnating his skin. Grime on his back, dirt on his hands... he guesses there isn’t much left of his holiday to ruin. He’ll be sure to stay at home, next time.

Or maybe neoprene wetsuits just aren’t worth beating oneself up over. He’ll happily join Elijah and Dom on some clean enough California beach, waves rolling over his head instead of oily, chlorinated water lapping at his ankles. He simply hates hotel swimming pools.

Of course, there’s also option number three: he could die of a heart attack.

He’s pretty sure he left his hotel room empty and dark, but when he walks in, the lights are on and there’s someone sprawled out on his bed. The door slams behind him, and he jumps up, nerves still raw after walking in on his unexpected guest. Billy certainly wasn’t expecting any visits this weekend, and makes a mental note to never trust Orlando with a secret again. 

Not to mention the fact that right now, a wetsuit would be considerably less revealing than what Dom—his surprise visitor—is wearing. Or not wearing, that is. Because even though Billy just got a blowjob—and that was nice, that was good—It doesn’t really help to take the edge off watching Dom stretch, half-naked, on top of the bed covers.

Bugger.

Then again, no. Not letting his mind take that particular turn down a very, very slippery slope. _bugger_ and _Dom_ should not, under any circumstances, end up in the same sentence ever again. This is exactly why Billy came to Acapulco instead of driving up to L.A.: to keep _bugger_ and _Dom_ from ending up side by side on his mind. Once every minute. Sometimes more, when they’re surfing, and Dom’s wearing a fucking wetsuit. 

So, right. No putting _bugger_ and _Dom_ next to each other. Good resolution, that. Billy is going to cling to it. Like a lifeline.

“Hey, Bill.” Dom’s self-satisfied smirk and sparkling eyes are full of mischief. “Nice to see you, too.”

Billy grunts a reply, such privacy-invading friends as Dom deserve no more. It can’t even really be considered rude to not warmly greet someone who evidently went through a lot of trouble to break into Billy’s hotel room. Billy thinks Dom probably sees it as crashing a party. Which normally, Billy would find amusing. Dom has this extremely annoying habit of crashing parties he never would have been invited to, and of making everybody have more fun than they would have had, had Dom not been there.

Only, this time, it’s Billy’s party that Dom is crashing. A pity party, even. Which means Dom not only wasn’t invited, he’s also not welcome. Not welcome at all.

Especially not if he’s not going to wear anything besides boxer shorts.

Dom sits up and smiles more blatantly, something wicked in his eyes that Billy really doesn’t want to know about. He’s bracing himself for that trademark Monaghan teasing that is sure to come up next. Though, to be honest, given Billy’s current state, he thinks he’s fair game. He’d tease himself, too, if he walked in on himself all sticky and dirty and... is that oil? Yuck.

“Billy, my friend, you stink.”

Yes, uhuh... Now, at least Billy knows Dom has a knack for stating the obvious. That’s already something. Finding out what Dom is doing here, in Acapulco, in Billy’s room, where he wasn’t invited... that’d be nice, too.

Billy supposes he could ask. Dom might even tell him.

“Dominic.”

“Billy.”

“What the bleeding fuck are you doing here?”

Dom smiles even brighter, chuckles, even. Again, Billy thinks it’s lucky that he got his dick serviced tonight. Because otherwise, he might be mesmerized by Dom’s quirked eyebrow, or by the play of muscles on Dom’s chest as he keeps laughing silently. But yes, Billy got his dick sucked, which is undoubtedly why it’s still half hard. It’s definitely not because he’s being hypnotized by Dom’s taut stomach.

He’s not, honestly.

Not even watching.

Really.

Noticed by accident. Just caught sight of it fleetingly. Certainly wasn’t trying to watch and...

Fuck! Fucking Dom!

Oh, and look, Billy can’t even keep a good resolution for more than five minutes. How very persistent of him. Feels almost like New Year and the promise he’d made to stop putting himself up for rejection every single time he goes out. Though to be fair, that one had lasted even less than five minutes. It had been flushed down the drain half a second after Billy had sworn to never try and pick up new tricks, unless they vaguely resembled Gimli. But what could he have done? He’d been out with friends, and there had been that scrumptious, yummy little twink and... 

Well, obviously, Billy’s still single, so... flunked a damn good resolution and didn’t even manage to flunk it in style.

Back to Dom, though. Dom and his fucking smirk and those fucking dimples when he laughs and... who’s he laughing at, anyway? It’s not even that funny, Billy’s confusion. And neither is the fact that Billy looks like he’s gone clubbing _underground_... Like, under-the-ground kind of underground.

Fine. Dom can chuckle all he wants. Billy doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

No, really, he doesn’t...

And yes, shower. Shower would be nice. Good. Free of Dom and Dom’s smirk, and Dom’s near-nakedness, and Dom’s presence which really can’t be explained and...

Yes, ok. Shower it is.

Billy tries hard to ignore Dom’s last accompanying chuckle, as he turns around and heads for the bathroom. He doesn’t doubt that there is some twisted humour in this situation; he just wishes it wasn’t completely lost on him, while so obvious and funny to Dom. Not fair, really. 

The bathroom is blissfully sterile. Big, white and empty. Billy walks in and thinks _Switzerland_. And that’s not about chocolate, but he figures that at least, here is one neutral safe place Dom won’t come haunting him. Though technically, Dom can’t haunt him. He can... uh... stalk him? Yeah, stalk. And Dom might be a stalker, but Billy has great hopes of Dom being a stalker with manners. The bathroom hence remains neutral territory.

Come to think of it, it’s a bit like what he’d thought Acapulco would be. Maybe he should really have gone to Switzerland, then. Or maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. Elijah’s flat has a bathroom too, after all. If he was going to spend all of his free time hiding in one, he supposes it might as well have been Elijah’s.

Billy drops the soiled shirt and jeans to the floor, steps inside the clean, white cubicle. Aaaaaah... nice. He lets the cool water run down his face and neck and body, and rid him of any and all reminders of his encounters with the back alley wall, and the sewer-stained sand. With a little luck, his mind will become just as blank and dirt-free as his body. Dirt-free or Dom-free.

Whatever.

It’s not like he hasn’t been trying for the past few months to rid his mind of Dom. It’s just that he hasn’t been having any luck with succeeding. Spending most of his days off with Dom and Elijah hasn’t helped either. Especially not since Dom and Elijah make such a cute couple… even if Billy still has no proof of the fact that they are, indeed, a couple.

And yes, Billy is very aware of the fact that there is no logic to his inner ramblings. The truth is that Dom and Elijah have been attached at the hip, lately. But if flying half-way across the world to attend one of Viggo’s dinners doesn’t make Orlando gay, then there’s no reason that sharing a small flat should mean Elijah and Dom are shagging. To be quite honest, that assumption is only Billy’s... well, Billy’s and millions of hormonal fangirls’, if the websites are to be trusted. Which leads Billy to being about 90% certain that he’s friends with the two poster boys for BigGayTrueLove. 

Still, no proof. No proof of it at all.

When in doubt, sit back and don’t interfere. That’s Billy’s motto.

Though that brings Billy nowhere near any plausible explanation as to why Dom forfeited a weekend of surfing and lazing around with his BigGayBoyfriend, for crashing Billy’s pity party.

There’s a sudden draft and the sound of the bathroom door opening, which can only mean one thing: Switzerland has been invaded. That is unprecedented. Though it’s not really unexpected that Dom’s manners aren’t quite as good as Billy had thought. 

“Dom?”

“Sorry, Bill, just needed to take a leak.”

Oh. Of course. Bad manners and bad timing. And the goose bumps running across Billy’s skin can’t possibly be because he’s standing there naked, a flimsy shower curtain away from Dom, and… Oh, dear Lord. Dom is going to… do his business, which can only mean one thing…

Dom is going to… He’s going to…

Billy ducks his head back under the spray of water, eyes tightly closed, desperately trying not to think about Dom, Dom’s body, Dom’s boyfriend… And no, he’s certainly not trying to listen to the tell-tale rustling of Dom’s boxers, or Dom’s, uh… business or… shower curtain rings? 

Billy turns around and gasps, blinking the stinging water and shampoo from his eyes. The shower curtain has been drawn back, all right, and if the shampoo doesn’t have any hallucinogenic qualities, then it’s undoubtedly Dom who’s now standing in the shower with him, mischievous smirk still in place.

Oh, yeah, and he’s naked, this time.

No boxers, no wetsuit, no nothing. Just Dom, in all his naked glory, Billy’s wet dream personified. Billy squeaks.

“Dom?”

Dom doesn’t seem to be feeling out of place. Actually, his smirk has even turned quite predatory, which leaves Billy frantically looking for an escape. He’s clutching at his dick and balls, not so much trying to hide the goods as trying to keep his reborn erection hidden from Dom. He feels he’s been humiliated enough for one evening, no point in asking for more.

Contrary to popular beliefs, Billy’s never taken a shower with any of the hobbits before—they’re neither a boy band nor a rugby team—and even though he’s seen it countless times in his mind’s eye, he’s never actually laid eyes on Dom’s dick. Well, that’s not entirely true because he’s taken the occasional peek in the bathroom stalls. But he’s never really _looked_. Not closely anyway. That’s not going to change. He bats the water and shampoo out of his eyes but keeps them level with Dom’s, refusing to follow the sudden impulse to drop the soap and bend down to retrieve it. 

Dom just leers.

“Billy, mate. Want me to scrub your back?”

There are at least a dozen questions Billy needs to ask, now, but all he manages is a weak—very weak—squeaky “whu?” Then Dom is leaning impossibly close—kissing close—and stealing the soap from his hand before stepping away again. Billy is feeling just as dizzy as he’s feeling lost, all of a sudden; but Dom seems to be enjoying himself. He’s invaded Switzerland, and Switzerland is not putting up a fight, Billy supposes that would make any invader smug and happy.

“Dom? Elijah?”

And that’s as coherent as Billy is going to get, certainly, because Dom’s taken over; he’s pushed Billy around and is now soaping his back, scratching his nails lightly along his shoulders. 

Billy needs to know, though. He’s spent his evening so far bemoaning the fact that the object of his affection and lust was a taken man, and even though this is the most fabulous shower he’s had in a long time, the memory of the grime from the alley and dirty sand from the beach is still pretty close. There’s a reason he came here to escape temptation, there’s a reason this is… _was_ a pity party, and Dom washing his hair—nguh—should not confuse him so much that he can’t think about not betraying a friend.

Oh, gawd, but what is he thinking? Dom doesn’t necessarily want to cheat on Elijah just because he crashes Billy’s secret pity party, breaks into his hotel room and joins him in the shower. It’s presumptuous of him, surely. Dom is his friend; a little shower between friends is perfectly fine and dandy. Innocent, even.

Unlike his raging hard-on, which he’s having a _hard_ time keeping covered.

Dom doesn’t seem to have heard him speak, though, and is now soaping up Billy’s arms, all but wrapping his own around Billy to reach his hands. Billy’s hands. Which are wrapped around Billy’s cock, trying to shield it from view, and which are _not_ doing a very good job. Billy squeaks again but doesn’t move away. He’s thinking about it, but Dom is leaning forward, his upper chest pushing against Billy’s shoulder blades, his soapy hands resting on top of Billy’s trembling ones, almost wrapping around Billy’s prick… 

Moving away just doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore. If something doesn’t happen soon, though, Billy will explode. Die. Or more embarrassingly, start begging.

When Dom’s fingers start insinuating themselves between his, when the tip of Dom’s thumb brushes so lightly against Billy’s cock that he almost misses the feel of it, Billy knows he’ll later say that it _all happened so fast, he doesn’t remember everything, really_. Right now, though, it’s as slow as can be. Too slow. Painfully slow. So slow that he _has_ to unclench his fingers, he _has_ to push back against Dom’s chest until he can feel more of him along the full length of his back… He just _has_ to surrender. 

Switzerland is being taken and there will be no prisoners. 

There’s still the thought of Elijah pulling at his consciousness, though, even as he melts and moans through Dom mouthing his neck and squeezing his cock. He can’t quite chase out of his mind the wetsuits and the way Elijah hung all over Dom last weekend, how they whispered in each other’s ears all evening, how they surfed closer to each other than either of them did to Billy, how it’s been like this for months, now, and how it’s been so painful Billy thinks he should have scars to show for the hurt.

So he tries one last time, opens his eyes and grits his teeth, turning his head to try and look at Dom over his shoulder. Dom is grinning wolfishly, licking his lips hungrily and there’s a moment right there when Billy almost says _bugger this_ —or, you know, _bugger_ this—but he just needs to know.

“Dom, seriously, what about Elijah?”

Dom doesn’t answer right away, just leans forward and makes Billy’s eyes cross from standing so close. He plants a kiss on Billy’s nose, finishes it with a swipe of his tongue to Billy’s mouth and a flick of the wrist that almost sends Billy reeling, then finally grazes his teeth on Billy’s earlobe before whispering hoarsely.

“Elijah is spending the weekend with his bird. Elijah isn’t here. Elijah doesn’t care where I am, right now, and that’s good, because fuck, Billy, I don’t think I want to be thinking about Elijah now.”

Oh.

Right.

Billy really _does_ feel stupid more than anything, now. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

But did he mention lucky? Because yes, stupid but so very lucky. 

He turns around and looks at Dom intently, just because after all, it’s not normal for him to be this lucky, really; but on top of the fact that Dom is still holding his dick (and stroking very lightly and nicely and nguh again), Billy can tell from Dom’s blinding smile that he couldn’t be more serious than that. So he doesn’t wait any longer, grabs the back of Dom’s head and plunges forward, pecks and licks and nibbles and loses his breath when Dom opens his mouth and they’re finally— _finally_ —kissing properly.

As they start pawing at each other more urgently, water still running down and over them, their dicks sliding against each other, their bodies burning and melting, and every other cliché Billy can think of, he feels the grime and the sand and Acapulco fading away. He thinks fleetingly of what brought him here, of Dom’s wetsuit and his own stupidity. He thinks that Dom is a wet dream, only really a lot wet and not so much a dream anymore…

Then Dom drops to his knees and Billy doesn’t think at all.


End file.
